


You Are Cordially Invited to Bite Me

by PumpkinDoodles



Series: Taserbones Tumblr Prompts & Tiny (Adorkable) Fics [19]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Fake Wedding, Mr. Fishy, The return of The Obnoxious Tourist Couple, you knew Private Lorraine was a little wicked
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:08:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22093861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PumpkinDoodles/pseuds/PumpkinDoodles
Summary: A fake wedding license, a gown, and Phil Coulson to walk Darcy down the aisle to the world's most annoying fake groom...before the arms deal. What could possibly go wrong?Winchesterxgirl requested a tiara fic. I made it a sequel to"Welcome to Vampireville, USA, Darcy Lewis."
Relationships: Darcy Lewis/Brock Rumlow
Series: Taserbones Tumblr Prompts & Tiny (Adorkable) Fics [19]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1484168
Comments: 86
Kudos: 253





	1. Pre-Wedding Jitters

**Author's Note:**

  * For [winchesterxgirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/winchesterxgirl/gifts).



> Winchesterxgirl: "Undercover prompt: Brock explaining to Darcy how to properly wear a crown, she tells him to screw off because she wore a tiara in Asgard and no one lectured her about it."  
> Based on this post about tiara placement: https://stars---thunderbird.tumblr.com/post/190022362237/pomegranateandivy-myresin-januariat-hire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing!

Buddha Bar Hotel,

4 rue d'Anjou, 

Paris, France

“You need to put the tiara on in a specific way, sweetheart,” Brock told Darcy, as she tried to decide on a wedding hairstyle. She'd tried the tiara on with her hair down, then changed her mind and swept her hair into a low bun that made it look like she had a wavy bob. Not that it mattered: she was technically a faux-bride. They were prepping for a fake wedding. In Paris. She sighed at her reflection in the mirror. It was really a black market arms deal for SHIELD. Brock was there as an undercover SHIELD agent and she’d been corralled into being his pretend wife again for a small, albeit fancy ceremony. They weren’t married--yet. Brock hadn’t asked. Darcy felt a little sensitive about that. She’d been dating Brock since Phil Coulson had placed her in hiding with him and Jack Rollins in Forks, Washington, home of _Twilight._ The former HYDRA triple agents had been in the SHIELD equivalent of witness protection, running a fake PI business. That had been when Darcy discovered that she and Brock were really good at public bickering. And sex. They’d left Forks to help Phil do surveillance of people all over Europe, distracting potential targets with their Obnoxious Tourist Couple routine for months. Now the Obnoxious Couple were getting married. 

Just not the real couple. 

Darcy’s attention was drawn back to Brock, moving the the tiara on her head. “Ow,” she said.

“It’s not like a head band. Not too high and not too low, or that doesn’t give your face the correct proportions,” he said.

“And you know that how?”

“A Saudi princess taught me all about tiaras, back when I was single and a very good student,” Brock said wryly. 

“Clearly, she taught you many things. Also, it’s my freaking tiara!” Darcy said, using her Obnoxious Tourist Darcy voice on impulse. It was a sarcastic, petty voice. “You are cordially invited to bite me,” she told him. He just laughed and mock nibbled at her neck. Darcy melted a little. “And this one is meant to be worn low, just above the eyebrows, it’s flapper style from the twenties,” she said.

Loki had made her a magical replica of a famous lost Russian tiara, the Yusupov Diamond Sunburst. Instead of the Yusupov’s center diamond, it had a center sapphire. Darcy readjusted the tiara so it sat across her forehead. “I don’t see why Jack and Roger”--that was Jack Rollins’ husband-- “couldn’t do this one instead of us, anyway,” she told Brock. They’d been pulled from more normal work--Brock doing pre-mission tactical analytics, Darcy in Jane’s lab--at the upstate Avengers facility for this mission. Tony had pouted. Jane had pouted. Now Darcy felt like pouting. She hadn’t imagined an emotion-wrenching fake wedding scenario. 

“You know Roger doesn’t really like Phil,” Brock said mildly. Darcy nodded, repressing another sigh. Roger was a lovely art dealer. He also resented that his tall, handsome, Australian husband tended to need to disappear whenever Phil showed up. Brock rubbed her shoulders. “Besides, Phil wants to walk you down the aisle for our fake shindig. He says it'll be an experience. What’s bugging you, huh?” Brock said.

“I don’t know,” Darcy lied. She knew. It was that they were faking getting married when he’d already been _actually_ married to someone else. His ex-wife, Gillian. Darcy liked Gillian. They were Facebook friendly and sent each other birthday gifts and articles about yoga. But there was just a tiny, jealous troll living in her brain, whispering that Brock had married Gillian on the spur of the moment, but they’d been together for more than a year and...nothing. No proposal, even though they’d trekked to an astonishing number of picturesque, engagement worthy places for SHIELD: France, Italy, Morocco, even the gorgeous mountains of northern Thailand. Darcy sighed again. 

“It’ll be fine,” Brock said. He gazed at her reflection in the vanity mirror of their glamorous black and red suite. “You look great in that." He ran a hand over the top edge of the sunburst. "Where’s the dress?”

“Coming tomorrow, you can’t see it, it’s bad luck for the mission,” Darcy said jokingly. The dress was another Loki marvel: a magical replica of a bias-cut, halter-necked silk dress worn by Jean Harlow when she posed for the photographer George Hurrell. Darcy was going to be the world’s most glamorous and sexy faux-bride. That was nice, at least. You didn’t need alterations with magical dresses. And Loki seemed to realize the intensity of her feelings for Brock more than Brock did sometimes. “It’s very beautiful and looks like a dress Jean Harlow wore once in the 1930s,” she explained.

“Jean Harlow?” he said.

“The blonde from the ‘nobody talk to me while I’m doing my lashes,’ clip,” Darcy said. That was one of her favorite old movie moments. Brock tended to hover and get amorous while she was doing her makeup, so she’d started doing it as a bit, usually before he dragged her to bed for a few moments. Brock grinned.

“Right,” he said. “Well, I’ve got to run an errand, sweetheart.” Brock kissed her cheek. “I’ll be right back, you can practice your lashes and your tiara without me.”

“What errand?” Darcy said.

“Special errand,” he said. “Bad luck to tell you.”

“Fine,” Darcy grumbled. 

“You look amazing,” he told her.

“I’m wearing sock monkey pajamas with my tiara, wiseass!” she called back. He laughed.

* * *

There was someone waiting for him at the antique store, giving instructions to an employee. “Hello,” Brock said. Loki Odinson turned and gave him a cheshire cat smile as the employee went in the back. Brock had enough of a memory of the Chitauri invasion to still feel a frisson of alarm whenever Loki smiled like that.

“You’re here, wonderful!” he said. “I have been deputized by my love”--Loki was betrothed to a canny, gimlet-eyed Asgardian witch called Var-- “to tell Darcy that her fish is quite well.”

“Good,” Brock said. Loki had charmed a goldfish to have a long lifespan for Darcy; with Thor feeding it in her absence, Mr. Fishy now needed a swimming pool. “How is, uh, Var?” Brock asked. Loki’s fiancée was unnervingly clever and a little unsettling. She had told them where they could locate the items they were here to see. She had taken Brock aside before he and Darcy left for New York and told him that there was one place he _must_ visit for everything to be a success.

“Transcendent,” Loki said happily. “We are deep in wedding preparations. Although there was the smallest of kerfuffles when she met Captain Rogers again.”

“Again?” Brock said, confused.

“Yes, well, apparently, she popped down to Midgard on a lark some time ago and became involved in his war effort. She’s a tremendously sympathetic woman, she just wanted to do her part,” he said. “She became the secretary for a general under the alias Private Lorraine. She’d quite forgotten, but Captain Rogers remembered meeting her. He went very pale.”

“I’ll bet he was surprised,” Brock said conversationally. “Someone pops up from his past again.” Loki nodded. He looked down at the glass cases. Rows of jewelry sparkled back at him. “Var says this thing is perfect for Darcy, huh?” 

“She is never wrong,” Loki said proudly, smiling. “Her judgment is so astute, her taste so elegant, her bearing so queenly--” 

Brock nodded along. He didn’t understand quite why he needed _this_ particular ring for his fake wedding, but he could go along with it, just for luck. Var unnerved him, but Loki had promised to charm it with protections, just like other pieces of jewelry he’d given Darcy. That reassured Brock. There would be heavily-armed people at the ceremony. He couldn’t exactly have Darcy wear kevlar under her dress. The employee returned with a small, old-fashioned ring box. “I’m the groom,” Brock told him. “Potentially.” Technically, he was pretending to be the groom, but that was above this guy’s pay grade, obviously.

“Yes,” the employee said. “This ring is circa 1925, Art Deco, very unique.” Loki was nodding happily. Brock smiled politely. The salesman opened the box. The diamond and sapphire ring inside was stunning.

“Shit,” Brock said. “That’s perfect.” Darcy would love it. He’d intended to gift it to her after the fake wedding was over.

“A European-cut round diamond flanked by sapphires in an elongated hexagon shape,” the employee said, as if he hadn’t sworn.

“How expensive?” Brock said nervously, then was startled that the price was only six thousand dollars. 

“I have negotiated you a small discount,” Loki said.

“You didn’t bewitch anybody, did you?” Brock said.

“Of course not,” Loki said. “I don’t do that anymore.”

“Yeah,” Brock said, putting his credit card on the table. He had a Stark salary now. If they were really getting married, he’d spend this much, probably. Three months, wasn’t it? And he was playing at being a rich illegal arms dealer, so….

“Var says it is undignified for a prince to engage in petty thievery,” Loki added. “She says my talents are intended for greater things.”

"Sure," Brock said, eyes glued to the ring. It had an otherworldly beauty, really. He wondered how the Asgardian woman had known it was here...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Yusupov Diamond Sunburst Tiara: http://orderofsplendor.blogspot.com/2016/10/tiara-thursday-yusupov-diamond-sunburst.html
> 
> That ring! It's this one: https://erstwhilejewelry.com/collections/sapphire-vintage-engagement-rings/products/art-deco-diamond-and-dsapphire-engagement-ring 
> 
> If you like jewelry, check out the instagram video of it, too: https://www.instagram.com/p/B6O8hVBBGp_/


	2. Hey, Daddy-O

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing!

“You have made the correct decision,” Loki told Brock, as they left the shop. Brock nodded. Everything had gone smoothly. Oddly smoothly, he thought.

“How did Var know about this ring?” he wondered aloud. The thought nagged at him.

“It is possible she placed it here,” Loki said. “Or she knew of its existence because she once encountered it on Midgard in the past. It has touches of her magic, I think. The blue of the sapphires especially. That violet tint.”

“Seriously?” Brock said. “She put it here just for us?” Loki nodded, as if it was perfectly natural to locate--or place--beautiful antique rings for your fiancé’s friends’ fake wedding ceremonies at some unspecified date. Had she put it there during the war, he wondered? Just popped into a Paris jewelry store and planted a ring for future magical use? The mental image made odd sense to Brock. The cool blonde Asgardian seemed capable of anything. 

“Perhaps not for someone specific, but for a protective purpose. She has a gift for serendipitously useful magic. Her protective weaving is only equaled by my mother herself,” the prince said, smiling widely.

“That’s impressive,” Brock said. 

“Quite. Thank you. Oh! I almost forgot. Another wedding gift for the bride,” Loki said, reaching into a pocket and handing Brock a long box. He opened it. It contained a filigree bracelet that had a slight pale sheen, even to Brock’s gaze. “It can be our wedding gift, Var suggested I make Darcy a new protective bracelet. Her usual one is all wrong for the aesthetics of her gown and she would perhaps like something more sophisticated.”

“You enchanted it? That’s the uh, glow?” Brock asked, just to confirm. Loki nodded. 

“Your eye is getting better, Commander,” he told Brock, looking proud. “Tell Darcy that I will visit her with the gown tomorrow.”

“Thanks, man,” Brock said. Seized by a sudden impulse, he patted Loki’s shoulder. Why had he done that? For a moment, he thought Loki might recoil. He dropped his hand. “I appreciate everything you do for her,” Brock added nervously. 

“Of course,” Loki said, smiling again. He looked up. “I fear it may rain. You will want an umbrella.” 

“Tha--” Brock began, but Loki had vanished. “All right, he just disappeared. Okay.” 

On the way back to the hotel, it started to rain. Luckily, it was a light drizzle.

“Hey,” Brock called out when he came into the hotel room, “where are you at, honey?”

“Fancy bathroom,” Darcy said. He went into the bathroom. It was done in shades of black and glowing red glass tiles. “You’re damp,” she said.

“A little rain,” he said, wiping his face and hair with a towel. He grinned at her. “You look good.”

“Even the lighting in here is romantic,” Darcy said, leaning over the side of the round tub. 

“I’ve got a wedding present for you. Loki and Var made you a new, more improved bracelet,” Brock said.

“Yeah? I hope I like it as much as my old one.” Darcy peered at the bangle on her wrist. It had small raw emeralds and her birthstone. She’d told him in Forks that she thought it had once stopped a truck from hitting her. 

“I think you’ll like this one,” Brock said, leaning against the sink and retrieving the bracelet. He wasn’t giving her the ring yet. He opened the bracelet box and flashed it at Darcy.

“Ohhhhhh, pretty! Gimme, gimme,” Darcy said. “Wait, no. Let me get out of here.” She clamored, all covered in bubble bath, out of the tub. He tossed her a towel and got her hotel robe. “Thank you,” Darcy said, drying off, and letting him hold the robe as she climbed in. “Handsome and helpful.”

“I aim to please,” Brock said. She grinned and kissed him. He hoped she couldn’t feel the ring box when she leaned against him and ran her hands over his chest. “Whoa, take me to dinner first, handsy,” he joked. She pulled back and pouted a little.

“Lemme see my gift,” Darcy said. He handed her the box. “The silver is so shiny.”

“That’s the magic, apparently,” Brock said wryly. Darcy nodded.

“You talked to Loki?”

“I might’ve actually patted him on the shoulder--” Brock admitted, curling up his mouth.

“What?” Darcy said. Brock had once been concerned that she’d leave him for the Asgardian and wasn’t the greatest fan of Loki initially. Jack had once described him as “jealous and territorial as a one-eyed dingo,” whatever the fuck that was. 

“I want you to wear it to our meeting tonight with the contact for the Bulgarian,” Brock said, sighing. “I tried to make it a guy’s night, but he asked too many fucking questions.” They were trying to entice a high-profile weapons smuggler to show for a deal at the wedding reception. Brock had made contact with his fence, a French guy named Luc.

“Please, I can bicker in front of Luc,” Darcy said, swapping out her bracelets. She smiled at the new one, then made her most obnoxious face at him. “I'm going to go put on an inappropriate outfit,” she told Brock. While she was getting dressed, he secreted the ring in the hotel safe next to her tiara. He was waiting for Darcy when his mission cell rang.

“Hello?”

“Skye and I will be in the van,” Phil said, without preamble.

“Not on a date in the restaurant?” Brock asked.

“Very funny, Rumlow,” Phil said. Brock tilted his head and smirked.

“It would be weird if my future fake father in law was on a date with a much-younger woman at the same restaurant. Right, Dad?”

“I’m going to ask you never to call me that again,” Phil said.

“Oh, c’mon, Pops.”

“That, too,” Phil said.

“I like Daddy-O!” Darcy yelled from the suite’s fancy closet.

“Oh, dear God,” Phil said. “Whatever gave me the idea to put the two of you together?”

“I think he enjoys pretending to be long-suffering. It’s like a schtick,” a female voice said, evidently picking up on the line.

“Hey, Skye,” Brock said.

“Put me on speaker. When do we get this show on the road?” she asked. “Are you guys trying to break the record?” Phil’s Bus team kept a record of Brock and Darcy’s longest, most vivid public arguments while undercover. They’d screamed at each other at a café in Milan for thirty-two minutes. “Because Fitz has suggested a new scoring system that weighs volume more heavily than duration--”

“Neat!” Darcy yelled.

“Oh God,” Phil said.

“You put in that special projectile category?” Brock asked, curious, as Darcy emerged in a body-hugging, highly suggestive jumpsuit. Her covert persona was flashy edging into tacky. It was practically cut down to her navel.

“What do you think, babe? Do I look good or do I look good?” she trilled, in a higher than normal register. She did a little turn. 

“Yes,” Skye said at the same time. “We’ve got projectiles on a new points system, too. More for when she throws plates--”

“Baby, you look hot,” Brock told Darcy. “So hot.” He made sure to up his smugness. She fake-laughed.

“You better put on a good suit to match me. I like that black one, it’s sooo hot,” Darcy said in a dumb voice. 

“You like my suit, huh?” he said, licking his lips.

“Do you have to start it in the hotel room?” Phil asked with a sigh. 

* * *

It was always interesting to watch Brock transform into his undercover persona, Darcy thought as they got out of the cab to go into the restaurant. “I love you,” he told her quietly, kissing her cheek. He dropped his usual open, beaming smile when the cab stopped, squared his shoulders, and curled his mouth into a grimace. Phil and the team were parked somewhere nearby. She didn’t have time to look covertly, because Brock was going in without her. That was one of his Asshole Brock tricks: he walked too fast, left her on sidewalks, or would drag her by the arm, knowing the negative impression it made. “Babe, wait!” she whined.

“Move your ass,” he called over his shoulder, without looking back. She hurried to catch up with him at the hostess stand.

“You could have waited for me,” she said.

“I don’t have all fucking night, you took your sweet time getting ready,” he snapped, then leered at the hostess, a young woman, as she walked up. 

“Bonsoir, monsieur,” she said.

“Uh-huh, honey,” he said, smirking.

“Oh my god,” Darcy pretended to fume, crossing her arms. “I cannot believe you’re doing this--”

“We’re not even at a table yet, you’re already being a fucking pain, you know that?” he said, reaching over and lightly gripping her forearm to pretend drag her along as they were led to a table. He never held her hand undercover; it was another tactic. “Shut your mouth and behave,” he barked. “Don’t embarrass me, this is business.”

“Business, all you talk about is business,” she complained. The hostess was walking faster, Darcy noticed.

“You don’t mind when business lets you go shopping,” he shot back. The Luc guy was sitting at their table. The hostess dropped their menus and bailed. Luc turned to look as they approached, still arguing. “Why don’t you have a fucking drink while the men talk? Calm the fuck down already,” Brock said, letting go of her. He exchanged greetings with Luc. 

“I’m going to the bathroom,” Darcy announced, not greeting him.

“Now?”

“Yes!” she shot back.

“Fine, what the fuck do I care?” he said. As she walked away, Darcy heard him tell Luc something about weddings making women “fucking insane.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The hotel suites at Buddha Bar are genuinely glam: https://www.hotelplanner.com/Hotels/266493/Reservations-Buddha-Bar-Hotel-Paris-Paris-4-Rue-D-Anjou-75008#HotelName
> 
> In my head, Darcy's new bracelet looks like this: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/234187249359618788/


	3. Mae West Was Right

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing!

Darcy had gone into the bathroom to adjust the comms device hidden in her ear. She could feel it was loose and wanted to duck into a stall before it fell out. It had happened once and she’d had to pretend she’d lost an earring. Brock had used the opportunity to make dirty jokes about her crawling under the table to provide him with extra service--forcing her to muffle her laughter against his calf. Too risky to do that again. She bolted the stall door with a relieved sigh. Moving it around, she could hear Skye humming to herself and Brock talking loudly at Luc. _Good,_ she thought. _Open communication lines._ Now she could go back to the table. She opened the door and moved over to the sink. Melinda May was standing at the adjoining one, not making eye contact. She turned off the water and glided away smoothly. Darcy--busy washing her hands--heard the bathroom door click. The whole team was in place. If she was lucky, Luc would have confirmed that the Bulgarian wanted to sell ex-HYDRA tech to Brock at their fake wedding and this would go by quickly. She listened to them talk at the table, at least Brock’s half. “This wedding shit,” he was complaining, “makes her all edgy because you know how women are, they gotta make it their fucking day. She’s fine when she’s not dieting or blitzed out of her fucking mind on blow or booze--”

That gave Darcy an idea. She reached into her purse. She kept a little compact of rainbow shimmer powder to retouch her makeup. She dabbed at the compact with a finger and rubbed some of the greenish-blue square on the edge of her nostrils. She smirked in the mirror, put the compact away, and left the bathroom. She could hear Brock in her ears discussing the deal. It sounded like they’d made an agreement. There was one way to find out. They had a code for these situations: if she started to argue and Brock descalated, that meant he needed more time with the contact. If he escalated the argument, that meant the important stuff was done. They'd worked it out when they started interacting directly with criminals, instead of merely distracting them while Skye planted bugs and other tech. Brock hadn't liked that, though; he'd complained it was too dangerous for Darcy and then jumped at the chance to go back to New York when Tony offered them jobs. She reminded herself sometimes that he must _really_ love her, if he was willing to give up exciting work for his current job at SI, which was logistics planning for Avengers. Especially Clint Barton and Sam Wilson, who were always ragging him about being a glorified civilian now.

Darcy took a deep breath and left the bathroom. The restaurant was very quiet. All you could hear was soft music, the clinking of silverware, and polite voices. This was going to be a scene. Darcy wove between the tables and purposefully bumped Brock as she sat down, then reached over and rubbed his shoulders. “Babe,” she said, drawing out the word. “Let’s get a drink.”

“I ordered you one,” he began, siding over a glass, then turned his head sharply as she bolted some down. “Did you put fucking pills up your nose?” 

“No,” Darcy said, voice pouty. 

“What--what the fuck is that, then?” he said. “Blue shit just appears on your nose?”

“It’s nothing, I swear!” she insisted too loudly. 

“You fucking expect me to believe that? Again?” he said. Darcy sighed and stuck her lip out.

“Don’t be mad, babe, please.” She rubbed his thigh and he shook his head. “I just wanted to have fun, I’ve been so stressed with the wedding,” she whined. Darcy could hear Skye muffling a giggle and Phil’s heavy sigh. “I need to relax,” she added. “You want me to relax, right? You like when I’m relaxed.”

“Yeah,” he said, “but what have I told you? You gotta be clean for this wedding, all right?” Brock grumbled. “No more coke and pills,” he added, gesturing with a finger. “You can have booze and pot and that’s it.” Darcy rubbed her nose and tried to look guilty.

“I promise,” she said, then let her eyes swivel around the room. Brock resumed talking with Luc as waiters carried out trays. “Oooooh, food!” She leaned towards a passing on waiter on purpose and Brock had to grab her arm before she fell out of the chair. 

“Don’t fall the fuck over,” he complained.

“You saved me, babe!” she squealed. Luc winced as she leaned in, wiggled her boobs against Brock’s arm, and planted a kiss on Brock’s cheek with obnoxious loudness. He turned his head, sighing, then his glance drifted to her breasts and went intense. They were making out at the table when Luc got a call.

“Hello?” he said. There was a rapid-fire stream of French. A giggling, handsy Darcy leaned against Brock’s shoulder and slid her hand towards his thigh as he took a sip of some bitter whiskey.

“Ooooh, le huh-huh-huh,” she said, mocking Luc a little. Brock snorted.

“Behave,” he scolded. And then promptly stuck his tongue in her mouth eagerly. Luc had to interrupt them to explain that his boss would be attending the wedding. “Great,” Brock said, rubbing Darcy’s arm. “We’ll have our business handled.”

“Handled,” Darcy repeated, doing a tiny fake-drunk giggle. She squeezed his thigh.

“You’re high as a fucking kite, aren’t you?” Brock said. 

“No,” Darcy said, giggling.

“Don’t fucking argue with me,” Brock said. She downshifted her mood from giddy to angry and defensive. 

“You never let me have fun!” she shrieked. “Can't I have _anything?”_

“Who wanted the fucking wedding?” he said. They continued fighting until the food came. That was when Darcy called him an asshole and attempted to dump her plate in Brock’s lap. He moved his leg and swore vividly. “You got butter on my fucking clothes,” he said. People were staring. A horrified-looking Luc chose to flee. He flung out a series of excuses and a handful of crumpled euros on the table. “That’s all right,” Brock said, “I got th--goddammit,” he said, restraining Darcy. “What did you snort? What did you take?” he asked, pretending to shake her slightly when she pretended to try and scratch him as he looked at Luc.

“Something to make me forget I ever met you!” she shrieked. She saw Luc start to move faster.

“We’ve got confirmation of the meet,” Phil told them via telephone in the cab back to the hotel.

“And you weren’t arrested,” Skye added. “Which is disappointing.”

“Skye,” Phil said.

“It would add to the ruse!” she insisted.

“I had to bribe the maître d’,” Brock admitted.

“I didn’t actually _break_ anything, it was a tiny butter spill,” Darcy countered. “I just tilted my plate and got loud. It was a small spill. Just a scoosh of butter. The trick is to be loud, really.”

“Yeah, I know, baby,” Brock said, leaning over to kiss her. “C’mere.”

“Oh God,” Phil groaned, at the sound of them kissing. "I remember why I gave you back to Stark now."

"I missed you," Skye said.

"Thank you," Brock said politely.

"At least someone appreciates us," Darcy cracked, dodging a purposefully wet kiss. He was trying to annoy Phil now, she was certain.

“What was on your nose?” Skye wondered.

“Wet n Wild rainbow highlighter!” Darcy said, laughing as Brock blew raspberries on her neck. He knew that made her laugh.

“Awesome,” Skye said.

“Teaches me something new everyday,” Brock said affectionately.

“We’ll have sushi and some drinks here, like you wanted,” he told her, taking their comms devices when they arrived back at the hotel. They hadn’t really eaten before; you couldn’t eat and yell. Brock went upstairs to change clothes while Darcy waited at the hotel’s famous bar. Buddha Bar _was_ atmospheric: they had live DJs, regularly released albums of music, and the restaurant space was decorated with a two-story Buddha. Darcy had been listening to their world music in the lab for years; Brock had insisted they stay here just to make the work trip more fun for her. She thought it might make her a little bit of a clichéd tourist, but the place was genuinely like a movie set. The red dining room on a lower level was dimly lit and glamorous and she’d already decided to drag him upstairs to one of the lounge alcoves to make out before they left. She bet Baz Luhrmann would freaking love it and he was her favorite movie director. She was sitting near the huge Buddha statue, sipping a Chambord martini, when Brock returned. “Hey,” he said, kissing her. “You feeling okay?” Sometimes, the adrenaline of fake-fighting made her feel like she’d done crazy cardio.

“I’m great,” she said, “this place is cool. You were smart to insist on coming here.”

“I wanted you to have a good time,” he said, smiling gently.

“Mae West was right, too much of a good thing is wonderful!” she said, grinning. 

“Did you order food already?” he said, frankly smirking now. “Because I wanted to talk about something before you have another martini and I gotta carry you up that big ass staircase.” Darcy stuck her tongue out.

“Shut up, I feel called out,” she said. She was a teensy bit buzzed. “Umm, I ordered shrimp tempura and some sushi. California roll,” she added. He wasn’t terribly daring with sushi. “I thought you might want the salmon, too. Why?”

“I, uh, wanted to make sure we got everything right about this project,” he said. They used project to refer to the fake wedding in public.

“Like what?” Darcy said, leaning in. “Are you worried about something?”

“We forgot something pretty important,” he said.

“What?” Darcy said, confused. The waiter arrived with sushi.

“Hold on,” Brock said, looking oddly pleased. 

“Is this a trick?” Darcy wondered, as he set down plates and Brock ordered more food in his careful, slightly halting French.

“No,” he said, eating California roll and grinning. “No tricks. Nothing has occurred to you?” Brock asked. 

“Ummm, no?” she said. “The officiant?”

“Nope.”

“The project paperwork?” They had a fake wedding license. Brock shook his head. He kept looking at her and smirking as they ate the sushi. She guessed a few different things. He kept saying no.

“What? I give up!” Darcy said finally. 

“Well, uh, I think the bride needs one thing,” he said, reaching into his pocket. He took out a small box.

“Ohhhhh,” Darcy said. “A ring?” She’d forgotten.

“Why don’t you see?” he said, smiling. She took the box and opened it slowly. Then gasped. It was the most beautiful ring she’d ever seen, a round diamond flanked by sapphires and more diamonds.

“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my--” she whispered, voice low with shock. Her chest felt tight.

“God?” Brock said. “You like it?”

“It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life,” Darcy said, looking up at it in shock. “Is--is this real?” she wondered.

“Yes, baby. Genuine art deco. Var tipped me off, actually, said the perfect ring for you was at a particular shop. As soon as I saw it”--he paused, smiled-- “I knew it had to be yours.”

“Really?” she said, feeling breathless. 

“Put it on,” Brock said, then clicked his tongue when she tried to put it on her third finger. “Wrong one, sweetheart.”

“Oh, yeah,” Darcy said, feeling herself turn pink. “Wow.” She shifted her hand, letting the ring sparkle from the light of the candle on the table. “I can’t believe you found something so wonderful and amazing,” she said, looking up at him.

“Why not?” he said. “You needed a ring for this and you can wear it on your right hand after the project’s over, too,” he said.

“My right hand,” she repeated, feeling her heart sink. He wasn’t actually proposing. She’d hoped….

“Wherever you want to wear it,” he said. “Wear on the left, too. Doesn’t bother me if you want to wear it on your left hand. I’m not going anyplace,” Brock told her. “We’re together, we don’t need to label it.”

“This feels like a pretty big label,” Darcy said. 

“Eh,” he said, shrugging. “I’m sure all your girlfriends will be jealous, but you know, if this fucking project has taught me anything, it’s that shit is really shallow. People put all this stock in wedding stuff, but they don’t have the bond we’ve got,” Brock said. “We’re special, we don’t need a fucking minister to tell us that.”

“Yeah,” Darcy said, nodding. She could agree with that. She looked up at him. “I feel weirdly in shock, though.”

“You like it better than the Loki stuff?” he asked. She nodded wildly. “Good,” he said. He tilted his head, sucking a little soy sauce off his finger. She caught him eyeing her.

“What?” 

“You know,” he said. “I feel more married to you now than I’ve ever felt married before, sweetheart.”

“Really?” Darcy said, swallowing. Her heart beat rapidly in her chest.

“Yeah,” he said. 

“Get on top of me tonight?” he said, once they were back in the hotel room. 

“Oh, I gotta do all the work?” she asked. They’d been kissing in the elevator on the way back upstairs. She could tell Brock was feeling it; he’d been touchy-feely and given her long looks all through dinner. He’d made sure they had good music playing in the room, too. That gave her certain ideas.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” Brock said, unzipping her jumpsuit. She wiggled and let it drop to the floor. 

“Okay, you win,” Darcy said, wrapping her arms around his neck. “But only because you’re just so pretty. So so pretty.” She pushed him back on the bed playfully and then climbed over his body with a slightly tipsy shimmy. She got his pants down, put on the condom, and was adjusting herself when he startled her by reaching for her neck.

“I’m pretty, huh?” he said, touching her throat with his strong fingers. She went still and looked at him.

“Yup,” Darcy said, wiggling her eyebrows, “but what’s that about? No choke, choke bad.” He laughed and ran his thumb down her throat, pausing at her clavicle.

“Not gonna do that. I-I wanted to say, uh--”

“Yeah?” she said, trying to be encouraging.

“I love you,” he said quietly. 

“I love you, too.” She held eye contact with him. He dropped his hand down, easing it over her chest slowly. Her breath caught as she shivered. Brock grinned.

"I got you," he said. He supported her arms as she moved, descending on him slowly, carefully.

“Shit,” Darcy said. “I’ll never get used to this.”

“Halfway decent sex?” he teased. 

“Yes!” she said, laughter bubbling up in her chest. He sighed--but it was a happy sound. When she rolled her hips, he groaned.

“That’s good, baby,” he said. He tilted his chin up. “Is that new move? Where you learning new moves?” he said, frowning jokingly.

“You know, I was reading this article about belly-dancing--”

“What?” he said, inhaling sharply. “Uhhhh, Christ.”

“That’s called a figure-eight hip move,” she said. “I think? I’m just a self-taught learner,” she added archly. He started to laugh. 

“More,” he said. “More of that.” He groaned when she swiveled again. She did not mind that sound at all. She wanted him to come apart underneath her. She moved more slowly at first, then rocked her hips until he grunted; finally, she backed off and swiveled her hips again. That made him crazy, if what he was saying to her was any indication. He actually begged. She'd never gotten him to beg before. That was thrilling. Of the two of them, he'd been the more sexually experienced when they got together. She knew he was close when he dug his thumbs into her hips, swearing vividly. He jerked and that was enough to send her over the edge, too.

When she’d come and leaned down to kiss him, he licked his lips and blinked at her. “You okay?” Darcy said. “You look a little dazed?”

“Uh-huh,” he said. “You wrecked me, baby.” She giggled and kissed his nose. His eyes were glassy.

“Wait until the wedding night,” she teased.


	4. The Morning After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing!

Darcy woke up before Brock and shifted over to watch him sleep. He snored gently. She studied his face. She brushed the hair off his face and was touching him when his eyes opened and he moved suddenly. Her knuckles accidentally connected with his face. “Ow,” he said, “why are you hitting me with your ring?”

“I forgot!” Darcy said. She’d worn it to sleep. “I’m sorry!”

“S’okay,” he said, smirking. “It’ll add to the story if people think you’re a secret slugger.”

“Oh my God,” Darcy said, laughing. “Only you would work facial bruises into our little project.”

“Yeah,” he said, looking smug. “C’mere.” He held an arm out and tucked her against his shoulder. 

“I love you,” she said, rubbing his chest, eyes fixed on the tattoos inside his biceps. She was careful of the ring. Brock smirked and watched her hand. “What?” she said.

“Nothing,” he told her, tipping her chin towards him, so he could kiss her. That was nice. 

“Back rub?” she offered.

“You feel guilty for smacking me,” he said. Darcy nodded, laughing. She was rubbing his back and planting kisses between his shoulder blades when there was a polite knock at the door. “Who’s that?” Brock said, half-asleep. His face was in the pillow. Darcy was lying half on top of him, kneading his muscles. 

“Ignore it,” she said. She was enjoying lazing around with him too much to be interrupted.

“I have the gown,” Loki announced, shimmering through the closed door suddenly. 

“Loki!” Darcy said, pulling the sheet over her boobs.

“Cease your constant lovemaking, we have important matters,” he said. He looked at Brock imperiously. “The groom must leave.”

“Constant lovemaking?” Darcy said.

“I have to leave?” Brock said.

“It’s quite nauseating,” Loki said. “Don’t be tiresome.”

“I don’t want him to leave,” Darcy whined dramatically. She cuddled Brock. “This is our romantic work vacation. Why can’t he stay?”

“The gown. It is bad Midgardian luck!” Loki insisted. “He cannot see you.”

“Can’t you just make her temporarily invisible?” Brock said, yawning in a way that suggested he was messing with Loki. Darcy knew that tone.

“That’s not a bad idea,” she said. Brock shook his head a fraction and mouthed no.

“I have looked into it, however, your invisibility would be of longer duration than is perhaps advisable,” Loki said.

“No,” Brock said, aloud this time.

“But, babe, imagine the fun sex we could have if I was invisible,” Darcy joked. “Always a surprise.”

“I don’t like the sound of it,” he said, curling his mouth in distaste.

“You are wise,” Loki told him. “At first, it may be exciting, but an invisible lover soon grows jealous and the surprises are not so pleasant.”

“Who did you invisi-up?” Darcy asked, wiggling off Brock.

“That is not a word,” Loki said. 

“Phhfffft,” she said. Then she looked around. “Where’s Var?” The two of them were normally inseparable. 

“My father has appointed her a special envoy and she is at present negotiating peace treaties with several realms,” he said, preening a little. 

“Nifty,” Darcy said. “I bet she’s great.” 

“She is very adroit at such things, it is lucky that she can act in my brother’s stead,” Loki began.

“Mmm-hmm,” Darcy agreed.

“Did I tell you about how well she handled Vanaheim?” Loki said, warming to his theme.

“I’m getting up,” Brock said.

“Booooooo,” Darcy said, unsuccessfully trying to pin him.

“I’ll order you up some breakfast,” he said, kissing her gently and rising out of the bed. Brock was naked. And clearly trying to irritate Loki, who politely averted his eyes. Brock got dressed and left. “No making trouble,” he said to Darcy with a grin. 

“You ruin all my fun!” Darcy called after him. She heard him laugh as he shut the door. 

Loki looked at her, then gestured. He was holding a garment bag. “That’s it?” Darcy asked.

“The gown,” he said solemnly. “Shall we look?”

“Let me put on some undies,” Darcy said. 

“Your Midgardian modesty is very dull,” he said, rolling his eyes. But he turned around, obliging her. Darcy wiggled into a pair of underwear and then held her hand out for the dress. He unzipped the bag carefully. 

“It’s very delicate-looking,” she said nervously. She had to step into the dress and wiggle it up. 

“Liquid satin,” Loki said calmly, not turning around. “The halter should drape nicely.”

“It does,” Darcy said, slightly mesmerized by her reflection in the mirror. The halter folded gently in an x-pattern over her cleavage. Below the bodice, the shirt had a straight seam. Everything clung beautifully.

“And the veil,” he added, magicking up a long bolt of lace. “This is Var’s own lace work,” he said. It almost shimmered. “Protective magic,” he said softly.

“Will you tell her that I said thank you?” Darcy whispered. She was always appreciative of protective work. He placed it on her head carefully. It was a juliet cap-style veil: two layers of lace, the top forming a soft frame around her face. Everything looked perfect, Darcy thought. “It’s going to be a beautiful wedding,” she said. “Even if it’s not real,” she added. He helped her put on all the jewelry. Then Darcy called Skye so she could come up and see it.

* * *

“Jack, where are the red pepper flakes?” Roger called, leaning into one of the kitchen cabinet of their vacation house in Mykonos.

“No idea,” Jack said, walking into the kitchen. He was shirtless and tan. He kissed Roger’s cheek gently, squeezing his husband’s shoulders. “I’m sure they’ll turn up, love,” he said, chasing Roger’s mouth. “No need to worry about it.” 

“You’re relentless,” Roger said. “We have dinner guests.”

“Order ‘em pizza,” Jack countered smoothly. “We’re on vacation, Rog.”

“I have two spatchcocked chickens,” Roger complained, smiling.

“Two what now?” Jack said, grinning. His voice was wry. “Come upstairs with me,” he coaxed, holding Roger’s hand. “We’ll sort this out later.” He was leading Roger out of the kitchen when there was a knock at the door. 

“They’re two hours early?” Roger said, dismayed.

“Ignore them,” Jack bargained, leaning over to kiss him. The knocks grew more insistent. 

“They aren’t going away,” Roger said.

“Um, guys?” a female voice said. “It’s me and it’s an emergency. A little help?”

“Gillian?” Jack said, stunned. Gillian was Brock’s ex-wife. He opened the door. “What are you doing here?” he said.

“We have a situation,” Gillian said. “Can I come inside?”

“Yes,” Roger said. Jack was still staring. “This is SHIELD-related, I presume?” His voice was frosty. “I’m going to go work on my chickens.” He disappeared into the kitchen.

“This is going to go over like a lead balloon,” Jack said miserably. “Ruin the whole bloody vacation.”

“You brought chickens on vacation?” Gillian said. Jack grimaced. Gillian didn’t eat meat. She must’ve read something guilty in his expression. 

“Oh,” she said, looking sad. 

“Sorry. Tell me the problem?” Jack asked, raking a hand through his hair.

“It’s about this project Brock’s working on, the arms deal with Phil? I’m hearing chatter about the deal and it bugs me,” Gillian said.

“You have intelligence?” Jack said.

“No,” Gillian said slowly. She turned in a circle nervously. She tended to move when she was thinking. “I have a bad feeling about it, somehow. Nothing definite--but a bad feeling. Will you help me investigate?” She wrung her hands. 

“You need my help?” Jack said.

“I know I’m not your favorite person--” Gillian began.

“For God’s sake, Jack,” Roger said, appearing at the end of the hall. “Help her.”

“You don’t mind?” Jack said, astonished. Roger loathed SHIELD. 

“They always ruin my damn vacation, at least it’s her and not Coulson this time, that’s new,” he said. Jack grinned. Roger was cute when he was irritated. “Don’t,” he told Jack, accurately interpreting the grin. “I know that look.” Roger looked at Gillian. “Would you like to join us for dinner?” he offered.

“Yes?” Gillian said tentatively. 

“Wonderful,” Roger said. “I apologize for my husband’s lack of manners.”

“C’mon, love--” Jack complained.

“You’re Brock’s ex-wife, right?” Roger asked.

“Uh-huh,” Gillian said. 

“Follow me, I’ll get you a drink,” Roger said. He turned back towards the kitchen. Gillian mouthed sorry at Jack.

“She doesn’t eat meat,” Jack said, as the they walked down the hallway. Roger was assembling ingredients. 

“I’m making green beans,” Roger said. “Martini?” 

“Thank you,” Gillian said, smiling.

* * *

“I love it!” Skye said, shrieking a little. Loki winced at the sound. “It’s totally hot, you look bitchin',” she declared. She’d had Darcy do several turns to display the dress.

“Bitching?” Loki said.

“That’s good,” Darcy said, turning her head side to side in front of the vanity mirror. The tiara sparkled on her forehead. 

“Really good,” Skye said, plopping down on the bed. She wiggled her feet on the edge. “This whole op is so swank. I’d marry Brock Rumlow for all that stuff. Even this room is badass.” Skye looked around and sighed. “I’m so jelly!”

“Should we tell her you’ve been fornicating in that bed?” Loki said quietly.

“Please, it’s a hotel room and I’m not an idiot,” Skye said. “And you sound like a televangelist. Fornicating,” she mimicked. She looked at Darcy, sitting in front of the mirror. “Are you hearing him?” Skye asked Darcy. Skye frowned. “Darcy! Are you okay?” Darcy blinked and shook her head..

“Did Var do something to this veil?” Darcy wondered. “Because I can’t stop looking at myself.”

“She can’t stop looking at herself!” Skye said, laughing. “What did you do?”

“I, urm,” Loki said, looking perplexed. He made several faces.

“You don’t know!” Skye said, mouth open. 

“Var didn’t tell you?” Darcy said, pulling her eyes away from the mirror with effort.

“An oversight, I’m sure,” Loki said stiffly.

“C’mon, let’s go do something fun,” Skye said to Darcy. “You can’t let Brock see you in that.”

“Just give me another minute,” Darcy said, putting the top layer of her veil down again over the tiara. “I don’t want to take these off yet.” She sighed dreamily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since it's been awhile, a refresher! I headcanon that Drew Barrymore would make a fantastic Gillian. Victor Garber (the dad from Alias) is Roger in my head.
> 
> The dress is based on Jean Harlow's bias cut white gown: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/380554237262587336/
> 
> The veil is inspired by Kate Moss's juliet cap veil: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/856035841646053977/  
> https://www.pinterest.com/pin/138485757363462847/


End file.
